Gettin' Buck Wild: Sex Chronicles II (6 page)

Thomas kissed me deeply. “I can’t even imagine.”

We both broke out in laughter.

I placed tiny kisses all over his chest. “After I show you all my goodies, maybe you can take me to your place and show me yours.”

“I have lots of goodies,” Thomas boasted.

I gripped his dick and said, “I already tasted some of them.”

Thomas and I ended up drifting off to sleep, and we would have stayed that way if my phone hadn’t started blaring. I snatched the phone up in irritation. “Who the hell is this?” I said.

“Shameika, you’ve got to help me,” I heard a raspy male voice say on the line.

“Davon?” I sat up in the bed. “You have got to be out your damn mind, calling me this time of morning!”

He raised his voice. “Shameika, this is all your fault!”

“What’s all my fault?”

Thomas woke up, rubbing his eyes and looking at me. “Something wrong?”

I shook my head no and repeated, “What’s all my fault?”

“I got locked up.” I fought to suppress a laugh. “I’m locked up in here with a bunch of perverts because of that shit you pulled earlier.”

“The shit I pulled?”

“Yeah, the shit you pulled!” He was practically screaming into the phone now. “I’m over here at the Fifth Precinct, and your ass better get here on the double to bail me out!”

“Why not let the hooch you were with earlier bail you out?”

Thomas grinned, apparently catching on.

“She’s locked up over on the woman’s side.”

I couldn’t hold in my giggles any longer. “Davon, that’s what your ass gets. I’m in the middle of getting my groove on. I’ll have to catch you later.”

I could hear him taking deep breaths. “You mean to tell me that you’re over there fucking while I’m in jail?”

“Exactly!” I said. “And the sex is all that, too. He even cums better than you, you piece of shit!”

I could hear him calling me all kinds of names as I slammed the phone down.

Thomas rubbed my cheek. “I’ll have to remember not to piss you off. That was kind of cold, girl.”

“If you knew the history, you wouldn’t even be saying that. That fool put me through the wringer and then some.” Thomas’s dick was hard again. “Besides, why are we even discussing Davon when we can be putting all this dick to good use?”

Thomas placed his hands behind his neck and propped his head up. “So use it. You want to tie me up again?”

“Nope.” I shook my head. “I want your hands available for this next round.” I handed him the massager and feather duster. “Now it’s my turn.”

Needless to say, Thomas and I had a ball together for the rest of that day, and the day after that, and the day after that. After our next class, Thomas took me back for some more chicken and waffles. We had to wear disguises—dark shades and caps. Even though it was late at night, we were surprised no one recognized us as we chowed down. Then we went back to his place—and let’s just say his gadgets were a
whole
lot better than mine.

Thomas and I dated for the next year or so, but then things tapered off. He became absorbed in his business, and my interests turned to getting the hell out of Kansas. The world is such a big place, and I felt stifled there. He had just gotten to town. I, on the other hand, had been trapped in the place my entire life. I decided to take the leap. I started my own business selling, guess what, adult toys! I distribute some of Thomas’s inventions along with my own I developed from common household items.

Now I travel the country giving seminars and hosting adult parties. One thing is for sure; sistahs of all races love sex, and their men love it even more. I have made a ton of money and plan to settle down one day on the East Coast someplace. New York City is rather costly, but hey, there’s no point in doing something half-ass, so that’s probably where I’ll end up.

Thomas often crosses my mind. He’s the perfect catch for someone—
in Kansas
. It came down to making a choice, and I feel like I made the right one. But I will never forget that first night we spent together and the way his cum shot two feet in the air. Every time I think about it, I break out in a grin. This sistah will never be “fuckastrated” again.

Chauncy and I have been living together for a little over a year. I met him in a nightclub, and as soon as I spotted him across the crowded dance floor, I wanted to fuck him in the worst way.

I practically begged my homegurl, Nicole, to walk across the floor and get him for me. After a bunch of convincing, which included bringing up all the things I did for her in the past—like hooking her hair up and baby-sitting her bad-ass kids—she gave in.

Whatever Nicole yelled in his ear, over the loud music, worked, because less than five minutes later she brought him back to our table.

He is so fine, there ought to be a law against it. Chauncy is half black and half Puerto Rican; mixed together, they make butter pecan. Six-foot-two and lean with curly black hair and light brown eyes; too dayum gorgeous. We look good together because I am five-foot-ten, slender, caramel, with long, medium brown hair and big brown eyes. He sat down at the table, Nicole introduced us, we smiled at each other, and thus the sensuous love affair of Chauncy and Dawn began.

There is no shame in my game;I fucked Chauncy the first night we met. He is still here, so the sex must have been banging for both of us. In fact, it was more than banging; we fucked like beasts.

I was sort of on the conservative side when we met but thought my sex was the bomb. Most young women swear up and down they have the bomb-ass pussy, but Chauncy schooled my mistaken little butt right quick. He took me to the limit and showed me what “real” fucking is all about.

Now I am out there,
way
out there, and sitting here pondering the question: Can I honestly think of a thing I haven’t tried or am not willing to try sexually? It’s like this, I am down for whatever. Simple as that.

Let me guess! You think I am a freak, right? A slut? A hoe? Not hardly. But people thinking I am one is not terribly surprising. Sexual repression explains a person every time who would look down on sexually uninhibited women like me. Funny thing is, the women talking all the critical shit are the same ones sitting at home alone on the weekends, wondering why they can’t get or keep a man. Peep that!

Anyway, back to what I was saying in regards to my baby. Chauncy is twenty-six, and I’m twenty-three. Both of us had stable upbringings and the benefit of a higher education. Both of us have good-paying jobs and in general have our shit together.

I often call Chauncy my “twin” because his sexual appetite mirrors my own. That explains why I will never leave him, not ever. We understand each other’s needs, and the willingness to fulfill each and every sexual desire is mutual. This includes sexual activities with other people. But mostly it’s all about the two of us. Sometimes we incorporate toys, and at other times the wild shit we do is downright dangerous.

When I first met Chauncy, I had the basics covered. I sucked a mean dick, and my pelvic muscle control was above par.

Chauncy has taught me never to be ashamed of anything that feels good, which is why I am always down for whatever sexual situations he proposes. My girlfriends claim I allow him to dominate me; they call me his “sub.” But I don’t see it. If anything, we alternately dominate each other.

It is true that he is more likely than me to improvise and incorporate creative ideas into our sex lives. But that’s because I am still a baby to sexual freedom. The fact remains that I love every minute of it.

Like the time three of his best friends came over to our crib to watch a college football game. Chauncy asked me if I wanted to experience a train. I told him he was out of his fucking mind, went in the bedroom, and slammed the door. I was furious.

Once I calmed down and contemplated it, though, the thought of having four men wear my ass out made me extremely horny. The decision to go for it was a big step for me.

I went back into the living room, stood in the middle of the floor, blocking the screen, and slowly took off my clothes in front of all of them. Surprisingly enough, the fear I naturally assumed would be present was nonexistent. On the contrary, I did it with no hesitation at all. Chauncy motioned for me to come sit between him and his friend, Robert, on the couch, by patting the spot with his hand.

After I sat down, Chauncy lifted my right leg, which was closest to the side he was on, and pulled it up over his thigh so my legs were spread open. Robert lifted my left leg and placed it over his. My pussy was exposed as if I was about to undergo a gynecological exam or birth a baby.

Chauncy and I began tongue-kissing while Robert sucked my left breast. Chauncy undid his pants so I could rub my right hand up and down the shaft of his hard dick, and Robert started finger-fucking me, still sucking on my nipple the entire time.

Chauncy rubbed my right breast while Alex and Sean, his other two friends, just watched for a while. Then Sean came over and got on his knees in front of the couch, moved Robert’s hand out of the way, and started eating my pussy, which was so wet.

They discussed it among themselves and decided there was no way all of them could fuck me at the same time, so Chauncy and Robert decided to go first. They took me in the bedroom, and the whole experience was quite enjoyable.

They both got naked, and Chauncy lay on his back, resting his head on a pillow. I got on my knees and sucked his dick while Robert ate my pussy and ass from behind. Robert fucked me doggy-style in the pussy. Chauncy kept cumming in my mouth, and as always, his cum was scrumptious.

After Robert came all over my ass cheeks, I turned around and sat on Chauncy’s dick with my back to him. He fingered my ass while I rode his dick and gave Robert, who was on his knees with his dick dangling in my face, a blow job. Then I lay on my stomach, and they both took turns fucking me in my ass.

I was exhausted, and it was only halfway over. Hoping the pulsating warm water would rejuvenate me, I hopped in the shower. Before I was able to squeeze a drop of shower gel into my palm, Sean joined me in the shower. I wanted to pass the hell out when I saw his dick. He must have been sporting at least ten inches.

He asked me if I could handle it but didn’t bother waiting for a response. He picked me up, with my legs straddled around his waist, and fucked me up against the shower wall.

Sean was busting a nut when Alex joined us. Sean knelt down, put one of my legs over his shoulder and ate my pussy while Alex stood behind me and fucked me in the ass. I was able to maintain my balance by reaching behind my head and holding on to the nape of Alex’s neck. I came all over the place, as we all did.

Half of me feared the night would never end, and the other half feared it would. I never understood what people meant by the term “pleasurable pain” until the four of them tore my ass up in such a fashion. But even when it was all over, said and done, I was one happy camper.

Chauncy and I have experienced many other things together, and in due time we will experience a hundred more. The only limitations to sex are the ones people set for themselves. The only way to know how far is too far is to actually go too far. I can’t wait for Chauncy to take me there.

My mother always told me that when the time was right, good things would come to light. Well, after waiting twenty-eight years to find a decent man, I began to wonder if Mr. Ideal Mate would ever appear. Men always talk about sistahs being rude and having bad manners, but what about them?

Case in point. I went out with this brotha named Antoine, and everything was everything until we got to dinner and he broke out a jar of deodorant. Yes, I said deodorant. Now how come men start tripping when we apply makeup at the table, but they don’t see a damn thing wrong with doing nasty shit like that? What made it even worse was that it wasn’t the kind you just roll on. This Negro had the kind you actually have to dip your fingers in and rub on. His reasoning behind it? Check this out. This might not be verbatim, but it’s close.

“Hey, Tenage, you don’t mind if I handle a little hygiene issue right quick, do you?”

“Hygiene issue?”

“Yeah. I took a shower and all that before I left the crib, but I forgot to put on my deodorant.”

“Hmph, thanks for telling me.”

“Naw, for real. You know a brotha can’t be going around with that au naturel thing going on.”

“So, you have some on you? Just go to the bathroom and put it on right quick.”

“Actually, I can sneak it on right here. Nobody’s looking.”

I couldn’t believe it. That nashy fool—and I do mean “nashy,” because he was way beyond nasty—put on his shit right there at the table and then had the nerve to wipe his fingers off with a white linen napkin and then reach for a pumpernickel roll. I knew right then that he didn’t stand a chance in hell of climbing up into my sugary walls. That shit was just simply out of the question.

There are three things a sistah should always realize. First, if a jacket doesn’t fit well in the shoulders, put it back on the rack. Two, it doesn’t matter how raggedy your checked luggage is as long as your carry-on bags are fly. Three, a “nashy” man will end up bringing something home you weren’t planning on. While you’re sitting there expecting to dine on lobster and shrimp, you might end up with crabs—of the pubic variety.

Yes, I went there because that fool went there. I told him that he was a fool, too. It went a little something like this.

“Antoine, that is hands down the nashiest thing I have ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot.”

“Nashiest?”

“Yes, nashiest.”

“Is that a word?”

“It is now, because nasty just doesn’t do you justice. You have a lot of fuckin’ nerve. Sitting up here in a classy restaurant, surrounded by decent people, putting on your funk control.”

“Hey, hey, watch your damn mouth. I didn’t even have to bring your ass here. I was just trying to do you a favor. Break you off with a piece of hellified dick a little later on.”

“Hellified dick? First of all, what made you think I wanted you to break me off with a damn thing? Secondly, I doubt you have anything to break me off with. From what I hear around the hood, you’re not holding much.”

“Yeah? Well, from what I hear around the hood, your shit is like a car wash. You can run through it and get wet but never touch anything.”

I picked up my piña colada and threw it in his face. “You mutha fucka!” I screamed at him.

“Oh, I got your mutha fucka!” he screamed back before throwing his beer all over my expensive black sheath. Okay, maybe the dress was only twenty bucks on clearance, but after I ripped the tag off, it became a hundred-dollar dress again.

Antoine and I went to scrapping right up in the restaurant. I yanked at his mustache like it was glued on, trying my best to rip it off. He tried to get a good grip on one of the tracks in my head, but I wasn’t even having it. I smashed my three-inch stiletto heel into his suede shoes and then kneed him in the groin for good measure. Needless to say, we were “escorted out,” but I was 1 and 0 when I left up out that bitch.

After my Antoine fiasco, I chilled for a minute and took a quick inventory. From what I could determine, there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with me. I wasn’t at the top of my game career-wise, but I wasn’t trifling either. I had a decent job, but I hated my boss, Mr. Jenkins. The entire time I had been a night auditor at the hotel where I worked, he was displaying the typical behavior of a male chauvinist pig. Mr. Jenkins was straight-up disgusting, not to mention ugly as all hell. This man actually thought someone would fuck him to get ahead.
Puleeze!
Ain’t that much getting ahead in the world.

Jenkins was ugly, stank, and had gray teeth. He tried to use his stubs—he didn’t have fingers—to feel up any sistah that crossed his path. He was getting away with that shit too, until one sistah called his wife and gave her the 4-1-1. His wife came up there and opened a can of whup-ass on him at about three in the morning during one of our nightly shifts. I had heard rumors of women committing acts of domestic violence, but seeing it was truly enlightening. I never knew a woman could get down like that. By the time she took a breather, ole boy had two black eyes and four cracked ribs. Sistahgurl was not even playing. While I am not a supporter of violence in any way, shape, or form, I have to admit that the shit was mad funny.

Anyway, after the ass-whupping of all ass-whuppings, Jenkins never tried to cop another feel. However, he was still harsh on the females, pretending like we were beneath him in some way. That in itself would have been a feat because he was so short, a sistah would have to slither on the ground to actually be beneath him. My job was so-so, but it paid the bills. I had a nice little crib in Northeast D.C.

Most of my girlfriends were on lockdown. Their men would make them answer fifty questions and sign an I-shall-not-cheator-even-get-my-freak-on-dancing agreement before stepping foot out of the door. It was difficult for them to hang out with me on the weekends, which meant I had to often venture out onto the club scene alone.

It was during one such adventure that I ran across Black. Trust me, he was black in every sense of the word. His skin was black, his hair was black, his eyes were black, and he was wearing all black. He was so black that I almost didn’t see him approach me at the bar. All I could see were the whites of his eyes. At first I was scared and ready to run. But after he flashed his pearly white teeth at me—the only other feature visible in the dim lighting—I realized his ass was fine as frog’s hair.

Scratch that! He was finer than frog’s hair. The fact that he was extremely tall was an immediate turn-on, considering I am five-ten myself. He had to be around six-eight, and that was right on time.

“Excuse me, is anyone sitting here?” he asked, pointing to the seat beside me.

“No, I don’t see anyone,” I replied.

“Well, mind if I sit down?”

“I don’t own this club.”

He plopped down beside me and waved the bartender over. “You’re funny.”

“Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Maybe you’ll take what I’m about to say as a compliment also. I think you are the finest lady in here tonight.”

I glanced at him, and his eyes almost had me hypnotized.

“Is that right?”

“Yes, you have a very exotic look about you.”

“That’s ironic, because I was thinking the same thing about you.” I smirked at him, because I knew he was full of it. “What’s so exotic-looking about me?”

“Let’s see. I’m going to describe you like you’re a stranger to yourself, and then you can tell me whether you sound exotic or not.”

“Sounds like an interesting game.”

The bartender finally made it over, and Black ordered a Bacardi Silver. “Would you care for anything, Miss Fine?”

“No, I’m cool. Thank you, but I’m still nursing this Pink Lady.”

He looked down at my glass on the bar. “That sounds and looks like a very feminine drink.”

“Men who don’t have hang-ups about their masculinity drink them as well,” I said.

The bartender returned with Black’s drink.

“Hey, I’ll also take a Pink Lady,” Black told him before he could take off again.

The bartender looked at him funny and then chuckled. “Sure, I’ll be right back with it.”

I leaned over closer to Black. “So is that your way of proving that you’re a
real
man?”

“No, that’s my way of trying out a new drink that I’ve never heard of that looks interesting.”

I slapped him gently on the arm. “I like that answer. Now go ahead and describe me.”

“Okay, but it would help if I knew your name.”

“Oops, that might help. My name is Tenage.”

“Gorgeous.”

“What, my name?”

“You and your name are both gorgeous. By the way, I’m Black.”

I couldn’t help but blush. “So describe me, Black.”

“Tenage is about five-ten with smooth skin the color of the finest mahogany wood in the world. Her eyes are like black pearls, and her hair is like silk. Her facial features are perfectly placed, and she has this little mole on her left shoulder that’s incredibly sexy.”

I was speechless for a second before saying, “Damn, you do make me sound exotic.”

We both laughed.

Black and I danced the night fantastic until it was time for the club to close. He asked me to go home with him, but I explained to him that my pussy wasn’t as readily available as some. I needed to be wined and dined and mesmerized before I gave up my most precious jewel.

He seemed to be digging that and asked if I’d hang out with him the next day. I didn’t have anything else to do, so I said, “Sure.”

The next morning Black picked me up in a burgundy Infinity SUV. It still smelled new, and it was right on the money. There’s nothing like cruising in a smooth ride. We cruised down to Haines Point. He had a prepared picnic. He won major brownie points for that move, because I had never had a Negro take me on a picnic, much less prepare the food himself. This was the real deal all right. I can tell store-bought food anywhere. I know some sistahs that sneak over to this local soul food shack to get their vegetables for Sunday dinner, go home and throw a chicken in an oven, and pretend that the greens, black-eyed peas, and collard greens are homemade. Some of them even get away with it, too.

Black had laid it out: po’boy sandwiches with Havarti ham and smoked turkey covered with Swiss cheese, and carrot raisin salad. It was incredibly delicious. He also served fruit salad sprinkled with sparkling apple cider. He had a thermos full of Bellinis, my all-time favorite, for us to drink.

Haines Point used to be the ultimate hangout. People rode around in circles for hours to see who they could see. My sister met her husband that way. The D.C. police had put a stop to that years ago—shit got out of hand. But our picnic was peaceful. We laid out a blanket down by the statue. The breeze coming off the water was great. I spotted someone fishing on the Potomac, which surprised me because fish often roll up to the shores belly-up.

Black and I discussed everything from A to Z. He told me about his childhood in Jamaica. Surprised me, too—he didn’t have an accent. He said that he had moved to America when he was ten and made a gallant effort to speak like the people around him.

I had grown up in D.C. and didn’t consider that a damn thing to brag about. Like most Washingtonian natives, I had never really experienced all the museums or landmarks because it was taken for granted that they would always be there.

Black was a restaurant manager. His job had transferred him from Richmond, Virginia. That meant he often had to work long hours, and he made sure that I knew that up front. Apparently, he’d had problems in previous relationships because the women felt he was neglecting them for work. I told him that, as a night auditor, he had to be even more understanding about my job. He said that was cool.

The Bellinis started kicking in, and I was beginning to feel kind of frisky.

“Hey, have you ever been out to the Bay Bridge?” I asked him after our stomachs were full and the conversation had finally tapered off.

“No, can’t say that I have been. Like I said earlier, I’ve only been in the District for about a year.”

“Well, that’s where the view is truly beautiful. I know a little private spot on the beach that is practically always deserted. Want to go check it out?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think I should drive that far. I’m kind of tipsy.”

“Me, too, but not too tipsy to drive. I can take us if you don’t mind me driving your car.”

“I don’t mind at all.”

Forty-five minutes later we were parked on the sand. The sun was setting over the bridge, and the view was spectacular. Black laid the blanket out, and we sat side by side.

“This is beautiful,” he said to me.

“I told you so.”

Black caught me off guard by kissing me. I knew it was coming at some point, at least I hoped that it would, but I wasn’t quite prepared for it to happen so suddenly.

He was a good kisser, which is always helpful. If a brotha can’t kiss, I’m not trying to kiss him, period. I dated one man for two years and never kissed him after the first time. He was a decent lover, but I simply couldn’t force myself to go there as far as kissing.

Black’s kisses were so arousing that I could feel my panties getting damp. Black reached over and fondled my breasts through the sheer fabric of my cotton sundress. Our kiss grew in intensity, and I pushed him on his back and climbed on top of him. All that shit I said the night before about not giving up the drawers fast evaporated. I wanted him, and I wanted him right that second.